


(So if You Care to Find Me) Look to the Western Sky

by exalteddm



Series: Just Beyond the Far Horizon (Lies a Waiting World Unknown) [2]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anna can't stop meddling, Asexual Elsa (Disney), F/F, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Romance, Useless Lesbians, but we're calling it an epilogue anyway, lots of fluff, not that you have to read the other one first they're just in the same continuity, probably not really an epilogue since it's over half the length of the original piece at this point, some very light angst but it's mostly just Elsa being a disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exalteddm/pseuds/exalteddm
Summary: In Elsa’s professional opinion, “we almost dated for a period of about six months until one day we just never spoke anymore” is probably one of the worst relationship histories you can have with someone. Especially someone with whom you’ve just made eye contact in a coffee shop, three thousand miles and two years away from the town where both of you first met, and now she’s walking toward you and you’ve had literally no time to prepare anything that you might want to say, and—-It's been a year and a half since Elsa moved to the west coast to pursue a Broadway career at the school of her dreams—a year and a half since, intentionally or not, she managed to lose any contact she might have had with Maren Nattura. But for whatever reason, the fates (or maybe just their meddling little siblings) seem determined to give them a second chance . . .Maybe it will turn out this time.Epilogue/pseudo-sequel to "The World is Frickin' Awful (And We're Never Gonna Make it to L.A.)", but you don't have to read it to understand this one. AU, one-shot.
Relationships: Anna & Elsa (Disney), Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Series: Just Beyond the Far Horizon (Lies a Waiting World Unknown) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030083
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	(So if You Care to Find Me) Look to the Western Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Stephen Schwartz's "Defying Gravity", from Wicked.

In Elsa’s professional opinion, “we almost dated for a period of about six months until one day we just never spoke anymore” is probably one of the worst relationship histories you can have with someone. Especially someone with whom you’ve just made eye contact in a coffee shop, three thousand miles and two years away from the town where both of you first met, and now she’s walking toward you and you’ve had literally no time to prepare anything that you might want to say, and—

(Okay, that’s not entirely true. She’s been running through things she might possibly want to say for months, but that’s been within the safety of her therapist’s office and her shower. She’s definitely not prepared for such an abrupt change in venue.)

“Elsa!” Maren says cheerily, and just at the sound of her voice Elsa already wants to melt into a puddle and die. Eighteen months, and she hasn’t changed one bit. “I thought I might find you here.”

Elsa blinks. “You—um, you did?” she asks as Maren slides into the booth across from her. In her haste to shut her laptop, Elsa nearly knocks over her coffee cup and lets out a panicked squeak before successfully righting it. Maren looks at her and snickers, and Elsa glances away, feeling her cheeks start to stain red.

This is _not_ how she imagined their reunion going.

“Of course I did,” Maren shrugs, and it’s her turn to blush. “I mean, well—I was in town, I guess, and I’ve been asking around for coffee shops that local students might like. I . . . this may or may not be the third one.”

Elsa has never been more glad to have something in front of her to drink, because it means she doesn’t have to reply to _that_ bombshell immediately. She takes a long, slow sip of her coffee, certain that her panic is beginning to show in her face.

“Um,” she squeaks. _Yes, great job, Elsa, very eloquent_. “You were looking for me?”

Maren seems to shrink back in her seat, and for the first time, Elsa realizes that she might not be the only one terrified out of her wits right now. “Maybe?” Maren says in a small voice. “I mean, I was in town. But I guess I just said that.” Before Elsa can respond, a look of alarm crosses her face, and she stands abruptly, grabbing her coffee cup. “Oh, God, I’m not bothering you, am I? Are you waiting for someone? You’re probably waiting for someone, I can just—”

“No!” Elsa shouts, a little too forcefully. One of the patrons a few tables over glances over at them with a frown. “No,” she says in a quieter voice. “You’re not bothering me. And—I’m not waiting for anyone.”

“Really?” Maren says, exhaling. “I mean—good. Yeah, good, I don’t want to be bothering you.”

The two of them sit in silence for a moment. Elsa struggles to catch her body up with her thoughts.

“So,” she blurts out, unable to stand the growing awkwardness between them. “Um. Third coffee shop, you said?”

Maren blushes again, looking down at her cup. “Yeah, something like that,” she says. “Ryder’s going to kill me for spending so much money. Why is coffee so expensive here, anyway?”

“It’s L.A.,” Elsa says with a shrug. That’s just the way it is here, though she does recall being shocked at it when she first arrived, too. “You know you could have just . . . texted, right?”

As if they haven’t been on radio silence since Elsa left for the west coast, over a year and a half ago.

“Yeah, uh, about that.” She reaches up to scratch at the back of her neck, and Elsa has to physically restrain herself from tucking a loose strand of Maren’s hair behind her ear for her. “I sort of . . . lost my phone off a ferry a couple months ago. Don’t have anyone’s number anymore, that sort of thing.” She frowns. “You haven’t been trying to reach me, have you?”

Elsa dearly wishes she could say yes, but she forces herself to shake her head. “Sorry,” she says, though she’s not sure which of the many things she’s done that she’s apologizing for.

Maren shrugs. “Hey, it’s not your fault,” she says, but Elsa shakes her head again.

“It kind of is.” She takes a deep breath—she does have an entire speech prepared, after all, and who cares if it isn’t her shower and she’s not just talking to the shampoo bottles on her wall? “I was—I was scared,” she says, “and I let that fear drive me to do some things I regret. I pushed you away, because I—”

“Hold up there, drama queen,” Maren breaks in, and Elsa flushes crimson as she stumbles to a stop. Maren, however, doesn’t seem to notice. “I know you, and I know you’ve got a whole-ass speech up that sleeve of yours, but you don’t get to take all the blame for this one yourself. I was—” She stops, blinking, as if she’s only just realizing what she’s saying. “I was scared too,” she finishes in a small voice. “You might have pushed me away, but I was the one who let you do it.”

And that’s enough to give Elsa pause, because for some reason, not once in the five hundred days since they’ve talked has that possibility ever occurred to her. Not that she’s been counting, she reminds herself.

Ugh. Both Anna and her therapist are going to have a field day.

“Well, now you’ve gone and taken all the wind out of my sails,” Elsa grumbles, which is enough to get her a laugh from Maren. _God, I’ve missed that_ , she thinks, and then a moment later— _God, I’m so completely done for_.

Maren’s also just stopped her from making several awkward confessions at once, but she can deal with that later. Probably.

“Sorry,” Maren shrugs, holding up her hands in a what-can-you-do sort of gesture. “I’ll let you finish the next time you start winding up for it, I promise.”

Elsa freezes. “The—next time?”

“Oh!” Maren sucks in a breath. “Well, obviously there might not be a next time, I suppose. But since I’m here, and you’re here, and I guess I was just thinking that, well, maybe—that is, if you—actually—”

“Maren,” Elsa says, stifling a giggle, “Maren, breathe.”

She does, and Elsa waits patiently. “I’m here with Ryder for a week or so,” Maren says finally, after not just one but several deep breaths. “Maybe even a bit longer, if we find a few more schools he likes that we can tour. And I was thinking that . . . maybe we could meet up again? If that’s something you’d like, I mean.”

“Of course,” Elsa replies immediately. As if she could have ever imagined saying otherwise. “Of course, I’d love to.”

“Oh, good,” Maren says, exhaling slowly. “I’m—glad.” She takes a few more breaths and rubs her hands together slowly before asking, “So, um, are we good? Friends again, and all that . . . jazz?”

 _Were we ever not?_ Elsa thinks sadly, but outwardly, she just nods. “Of course,” she says again, and pulls her phone from her purse to slide it over to Maren. Time to be bold, if only for a couple of seconds.

“If I give you my number again,” Elsa says, grinning, “do you promise not to lose it this time?”

* * *

It’s almost infuriating how easily Maren slots back into her life after that. They agree to meet in the same coffee shop the next day, and once they do, the entire afternoon vanishes before they know it and suddenly they’re being herded out onto the musty L.A. streets by a somewhat exasperated barista.

It’s the second day in a row this has happened, and Elsa has definitely missed an assignment deadline or two, but she’s smiling hard enough and the night feels so downright _magical_ that she can’t find it in herself to care.

“Of course I still talk to Mattias,” she says to Maren as they walk down the sidewalk. Elsa assumes that Maren is leading them to wherever she and Ryder are staying for the week, since this is definitely not the route back to her apartment. “Anna would kill me if I didn’t, I think.” _She nearly flew out here and throttled me when I mentioned I’d stopped talking to you_.

“Good,” Maren says, though her smile is a little strained. “I’d hate to hear that you’d managed to lose contact with _all_ of your friends back home.”

There’s no excuse Elsa can give that sounds justified, so she just shrugs the implication off instead. The time doesn’t feel right for another apology, not yet. “So, um, Ryder’s looking at colleges, then?” she asks, hating how obvious the change of subject is and how much her voice still shakes. Maren, however, lets it pass without comment.

“Yep,” she says, nodding. “UCLA and USC today, CalTech tomorrow, some tiny school I don’t even remember the name of yesterday—” She sighs. “If I never have to sit through another guided campus walking tour, it’ll be too soon.”

Elsa grins. “So you’re still not planning on finding one yourself, I take it.”

Maren shakes her head. “Hell no,” she says. “I’ve got a business to run back home, remember?” And yes, of course Elsa remembers—she also knows that if money weren’t as tight for the her and Ryder, Maren would probably be taking enough courses part-time to earn a business degree to help her out with that—but she isn’t sure if telling Maren exactly how much she remembers would be weird. Most people, Elsa knows, don’t agonize over past conversations and replay them in their heads until every last word is etched permanently into their memory.

She’s trying to work on not doing that, of course, but it’s much, much harder than it sounds.

“Right, yes,” Elsa says instead, wondering if her ‘I’ve just been reminded of something I really shouldn’t have forgotten’ voice is convincing enough. Not for the first time, she wonders if Maren _wants_ to go to college, or if managing the Nattura sports shop and playing piano for Oaken’s on the side is something she’s perfectly content with doing for the rest of her life. They’ve never really had those sorts of heavy conversations, mostly because Elsa is so good at deflecting them when they come up. But now isn’t the time to ask, anyway.

It’s never the time to ask, or so it seems, anyway. But right now they definitely have bigger issues, for instance—

“Maren,” she says slowly, as they make their third left turn in a row onto a busy street that Elsa definitely doesn’t recognize. “You do know where you’re going, don’t you?”

“Do _I_ know where I’m going?” Maren looks at her, startled. “I thought you were leading us!”

“I don’t even know where we are,” Elsa groans. “And you were walking in front! I thought you were—I don’t know, leading us back toward your hotel or something.”

Maren blinks at her, then bursts out laughing in the middle of the sidewalk. “Oh, God,” she wheezes, “aren’t we a pair? We could’ve been out here for _hours_ before I noticed anything.”

Shaking her head, though she has to rein in her own laughter as well, Elsa fishes through her purse for her phone. “Here,” she says, “I can call us an Uber. Where are you and Ryder staying?”

“There’s a Holiday Inn somewhere downtown, I’ve got the address on my phone—” Maren stops, suddenly aware that Elsa is already typing. “Um, you know, it’s no big deal, I can always walk back.”

“At nine P.M. in an unfamiliar city?” Elsa shakes her head. “Not a chance.” _Plus, it gives me an excuse to go with you_. Which—wait, no, never mind. She’s not looking for an excuse to spend more time with Maren. She’s a functional adult who can set healthy boundaries for herself, and who is definitely _not_ pining over—

“If you’re sure,” Maren says tentatively, coming up behind her, and Elsa completely loses her train of thought. “Here’s the address, if you wanted it.”

Yeah, so much for being a functional adult.

Elsa keys the address into the Uber app while Maren looks on, tapping her foot nervously. “Don’t worry about offering to pay me back,” she says as soon as Maren opens her mouth. “I’d win that argument anyway.”

“That—” Maren flushes and looks away. “How did you know I was going to say that?”

 _I know you_ , Elsa thinks, but she forces herself to shrug and say, “Lucky guess.”

Maren narrows her eyes for a moment, and then she looks Elsa up and down, smirking. “Uh-huh, I’m sure,” she says.

Elsa looks up from the list of rides on her phone long enough to register what Maren is saying. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Maren says, flipping her braid back over her shoulder. “Just feels like someone’s forgotten less about me than they’ve been letting on, is all.”

Elsa freezes, her muscles locking instantly, and she has to push down the urge to simply drop her phone and bolt. It’s fight _and_ flight, all at once, and unfortunately—or maybe fortunately, she’s not sure—Maren notices immediately.

“Shit,” Maren hisses. She reaches out toward Elsa but stops her arm halfway, as if she’s not sure whether her touch would be welcome. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive, I didn’t mean—” She swallows, then blurts out, “I’ve forgotten less about you than I’ve been letting on, too.”

It _shouldn’t_ be enough to jolt feeling back into her body, but suddenly Elsa can breathe again—and if she’s still feeling light-headed, maybe it’s for a different reason now. “You have?” she squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual.

“I mean.” Maren runs a hand through her hair and winces. “I thought it was pretty obvious, but yeah.”

And, well, it might have been, but Elsa knows she’s been far too wrapped up in her own crisis to have noticed either way. “God,” she mutters, staring down at her phone. “We’re kind of awful at this, aren’t we?”

“You can say that again,” Maren chuckles, but then her expression turns serious. “Sorry again for freaking you out,” she says. “I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.” A brief expression of amusement crosses her face, but it’s gone so fast that Elsa thinks she might have imagined it.

“It’s all right,” Elsa says, and to her surprise, it really is. She feels fine—more than fine, really. She has Maren back, if only for the next week or so, and—by her own admission, no less—she hasn’t forgotten her. She wants to laugh or cry from joy; she’s not entirely sure which. And she’s also pretty sure that’s not something typically considered acceptable on a sidewalk in the middle of the street.

She settles for selecting a ride off her phone instead, taking deep breaths and attempting to control the blush she knows is still stubbornly lingering on her cheeks.

It doesn’t work very well, but she tries.

* * *

“Are you sure neither of you will mind?” Elsa asks nervously. She stares at the hotel room door in front of her while Maren digs though her pockets for her key card. “I mean, I don’t want to intrude or anything—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Maren scoffs, producing the card with a small, “Aha!” She points it directly at Elsa and says, “Don’t you ever worry about bothering us. You’re always welcome wherever I am.”

It’s a bit much, Elsa thinks, but she can’t help but look away, abashed.

It takes Maren a few tries to get the lock to accept her key card. When she finally manages to shove the door open, Ryder’s voice floats out into the hallway before they can even step inside.

“—the last time, no, I don’t know when she’ll be back. And _again_ , she always texts me before she starts heading home. We’re _fine_.”

There’s a muffled female voice that says something else, but Elsa can’t make out what. She frowns at Maren, who narrows her eyes and presses a finger to her lips. Together, they push the door open a little bit further.

“Don’t ask me, she never tells me anything,” Ryder grumbles to whoever he’s talking to. “Look, based on how she was last night, I’m _almost_ sure that it’s working. But if you’re so excited, just ask your sister yourself. Didn’t you say she always answers you right away?”

“Oh, usually,” says a tinny voice, which Elsa recognizes immediately as Anna filtered through FaceTime. _What is going on here?_ “But if there’s a chance I’d be interrupting something? No fucking way am I taking that risk, we’ve worked _far_ too hard for this.”

Ryder is silent for a moment, and then he replies, “I suppose you’re right about that. Guess we won’t know until Mare gets back, then.”

Elsa’s suspicions are growing in a _very_ specific direction, one that she’s not entirely sure she appreciates. Now would be a good time to put an end to this, she decides. 

“Okay!” she shouts, shoving the door open all the way. Maren looks at her, alarmed. “That’s enough of that!”

“Maren!” Ryder shouts, fumbling his phone. On screen, Anna freezes for a moment before reacting. “Elsa! Hi!”

Together, the two of them say in their best innocent voices, “We were just talking about you!”

Elsa gapes at Ryder, who has turned the phone away from her so she can’t see Anna’s face. She’s fairly certain that she’s met him all of once, when she crashed at Maren’s to study during her last week at North College, and she’s _absolutely_ certain that Anna never has.

“What—what the hell is going on here?” she manages, before Maren sweeps past her and swipes the phone from Ryder’s grasp.

“Hi, Maren!” Anna says cheerfully, waving at the camera. “And Elsa—” she shifts smoothly into a posh, upper class accent as she speaks “—don’t curse, it’s not polite to curse in company.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Elsa sighs, stalking over to the side of the bed that Ryder isn’t sitting on. “I do not sound like that.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Els,” she giggles. Elsa collapses on the bed, unable to bring herself to retort. “Isn’t it weird how much L.A. has changed her?” Anna says to Maren. “I swear, the first time she said fuck I nearly lost my mind.”

“Almost?” Elsa scoffs. “You didn’t stop screaming for three whole minutes.” _And I’ve always been capable of it, you little—_

“I don’t think she’s changed much at all,” Maren says, and Elsa glances up to find her looking at her. “At least, not in the important ways.” Then she freezes, as if just realizing what she’s said.

In different circumstances, Elsa would be happy to melt into a puddle on the bed and take a moment to etch that memory into her head forever. But the squeals of excitement from _both_ Anna and Ryder draw her rudely back into the present. “You’re both so _adorable_ ,” Anna says, grinning, at the same time Ryder mutters, “You two will literally be the death of me.”

There’s a pause in the conversation as Elsa and Maren lock eyes. Luckily, Maren seems to have reached the same conclusion that Elsa has—they’re in a losing situation here. The opposition has had too much time to prepare.

“I do not need to deal with this right now,” Elsa decides, picking herself up off the bed and marching toward the door. Maren stays where she is, feet frozen to the floor, so Elsa scoops the phone out of her hand and throws it back to Ryder. “Come on,” she says, “I have an extra air mattress at my place.”

Behind them, Anna and Ryder make some sort of gasping, swooning noise in perfect unison. “Ooh!” Ryder calls after them. “You’re _inviting her over_? How very forward of you, Elsa—”

“I said _air mattress_!” Elsa yells, flushing red. “And I’m _ace_ , you imbeciles!” Behind her, Maren has recovered enough to flip the two of them off over her shoulder.

“Later, stalkers!” Maren shouts as she slams the door behind them. Elsa is pretty sure she hears a muffled shout of _lovebirds_ in response, and she isn’t very keen on giving Anna the benefit of the doubt here. She collapses against the wall, buries her face in her hands, and groans.

“I’m sorry about my sister,” she sighs, at the same time as Maren says, “Sorry—sorry about Ryder.” They lock eyes for a moment, and then Elsa feels the heat rushing back into her face, but Maren looks away before she can bring herself to move.

“So, uh . . . you said you have an air mattress?” Maren says, beginning to inch her way down the hall. Elsa trails behind her, nodding, before realizing that she can’t actually see her.

“I mean, if you want it,” she says. “If it makes you uncomfortable or anything, I didn’t mean to impose—”

“Oh, yes, please,” Maren says. She speeds up her pace, skipping the door to the elevator and making a beeline for the stairs, which is a decision Elsa can’t argue with. “There’s absolutely no way I can go back there tonight. Or maybe ever.”

“I’m going to strangle Anna,” Elsa mutters under her breath. “How do they even know each other, anyway?”

“Beats me,” Maren replies. “I’d say you should strangle Ryder, too, but I’m calling dibs on killing him first. I swear to God, if he dragged us all the way out here just because he and Anna think they’ve concocted some stupid plan . . .”

She trails off, and Elsa feels a sudden, impulsive need to fill the silence. “I’m sure it wasn’t entirely that,” she says quickly. “He’s been touring colleges, hasn’t he? L.A. has plenty of schools he might actually want to apply for.”

“Sure,” Maren shrugs, clearly lost in thought. Elsa waits for her to formulate whatever it is she’s thinking about, but eventually she just gives up and shakes her head. “Just seems awfully suspicious, is all,” she says, refusing to look Elsa in the eye.

“We’ll drag it all out of them tomorrow,” Elsa promises, fishing her phone out to order another Uber. “They’re _both_ younger than us, how hard can it be?”

Maren gives her a flat look, and she sighs. Next time Elsa sees her in person, Anna is _so_ dead.

* * *

Maren leaves in the morning, about an hour before Elsa’s first class, leaving her to pace circles around her tiny apartment and try not to read too far into the events of last night.

There’s no way that Maren doesn’t like her, right? She had plenty of opportunities to tell Elsa to leave off, but instead she’d stuck with her, even when it meant that now she’s driving back into Ryder’s merciless den after literally staying the night at Elsa’s. And yes, she’d been irritated at Ryder and Anna’s teasing, but she hadn’t actually denied that any of it was true, had she?

A lack of denial does not a confirmation make, Elsa tells herself firmly. She needs more to go on than that before she starts making wild assumptions about what Maren actually wants out of their friendship after eighteen months apart.

 _You could just ask her_ , says the logical part of her brain.

 _No, that’s ridiculous_ , says the other half unhelpfully. _Shut up._

So asking Maren directly is out of the question.

She ignores several texts from Anna as she continues pacing, clearing the notifications from her home screen as they come in. Would it be weird to ask if Maren is free to hang out later today? Normally, she would wait at least a few days, but she and Ryder will only be in L.A. for a week or so. What if she waits too long and they fall back into radio silence again? Elsa certainly doesn’t want that, and she’s starting to think— _hope_ —that Maren doesn’t, either. Hadn’t she come to the coffee shop hoping to find Elsa there? Or is Elsa just projecting? Maybe she—

“Stop that,” Elsa mutters irritably at herself. “You both had a good time yesterday.” _Don’t let your mess of a brain pick it apart until you start believing you didn’t_.

Just as she’s starting to take deep breaths, blanking her mind and focusing on the opening bars of a song she’s been meaning to rehearse, her phone buzzes in her hand. Elsa opens her eyes, prepared to send Anna immediately to voicemail, but the caller I.D. stares up at her with Mattias’s name instead.

She swipes to pick up the call and raises the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Before you say anything, I have to make a full disclosure,” Mattias says, and Elsa shuts her eyes and groans. “I’m—”

“You’re calling for Anna, aren’t you?” Elsa wants to hang up the phone immediately out of spite, but Mattias is her friend, and that would be rude of her. She grits her teeth and stays on the line instead.

“More like ‘under Anna’s orders’ than ‘for’ her, but yes.” Mattias hesitates. “She’s instructed me to tell you that she’s sorry, because, and I quote—’I guarantee you she absolutely has not read any of my texts’.”

“Well, she’s right about one thing,” Elsa grumbles. “But I’m not forgiving her that easily, either. Not this time.”

She can almost feel Mattias frowning on the other end of the line. “May I ask what exactly she did?” he says, and Elsa is filled with a sudden, overwhelming relief that there’s at least one person in her life who isn’t alarmingly interested in her relationship with Maren.

Though she would also prefer to keep it that way.

“You may,” she says, tucking the phone against her shoulder while she moves to get her bags packed for class. “But I reserve the right not to answer.”

“Fair enough,” Mattias replies. “In your own time, then.”

Seriously. It’s times like this when she realizes that she doesn’t appreciate Mattias nearly enough for what he does.

“I promise you’ll hear about it eventually,” Elsa says. _Probably from Anna first, not that he’ll have much of a choice about that_. “But anyway—I feel like we haven’t talked in a while? Tell me how you’re doing.”

Mattias takes the change of subject in stride, which means Elsa learns quite a bit about what he’s been up to lately. His students this year are just as enthusiastic and talkative as they have been in the past (which is to say, not at all), and even though Yelena’s dormitory parties have become something of a tradition, it seems that Mattias has still managed to attend exactly zero of them.

(“It seems like there’s always something that comes up,” he tells her in his defense. “And I just feel that I can do more good talking to students than putting in an appearance at a karaoke party, you know?”

“Of course,” she replies easily, “That is what you did for me, as I recall.”)

He’s also met someone, or so it seems—he mentions a mysterious “Halima” too many times for it to be a mere coincidence—but Elsa’s subtle attempts at pressing are met with resistance, so she figures he’ll tell her when he’s ready. _It would be hypocritical of you to wrangle it out of him, regardless_ , she reminds herself.

Eventually, though, she does have to go to class, so she asks Mattias to please inform her sister that she is most definitely not forgiven before hanging up the phone. Mattias chuckles, but says he’ll pass the message on when he can—which she takes to mean ‘whenever he has an excuse to text the news to her and ignore the response’. Which, well—Elsa doesn’t blame him.

She checks her notifications on the way out the door, and though most of them are from Anna, she does find a text from Maren buried in the middle of the list. _Same time & place today?_ it says, and Elsa feels the blush spread across her face as she realizes that all of her worrying this morning has been for nothing.

 _Then again, when is that_ not _the case?_

She sends Maren a quick _Sure!_ —and then, in case that alone sounds too abrasive, _I can buy your coffee today if Ryder is still concerned about your credit card._ She slips her phone back into her purse before crossing the street, but opens it up one last time as she steps onto campus.

 **Maren:** Aw, how thoughtful of you ;) see you then!

If she can’t focus on a single thing that her professor says during the entirety of Fractal Geometry, well, that’s no fault of her own. Or so she keeps insisting to herself, anyway.

* * *

Elsa does buy Maren her coffee, and this time, she makes sure to text Ryder a good half hour before Elsa even thinks about calling her an Uber. _Just a few more days_ , Elsa can’t stop herself from thinking as she watches Maren drive off into the night. _That’s so little time_.

But she’s still taking classes that she really can’t afford to fail, so she heads back into the coffee shop and pulls out her notebooks, intent on getting at least a little bit of work done before it closes.

* * *

It’s four in the fucking morning, and Elsa’s phone is buzzing obnoxiously from where it sits on her desk. She pulls herself out of bed, cursing at the comforter as it slowly topples onto the floor, and answers the phone before she can think better of it. “What?” she groans, rubbing at her eyes.

“Ha!” Anna’s voice cries from the other end of the line. “It worked!”

Elsa blinks a few times before she can process what’s going on, feeling a profound sense of irritation settle over her shoulders. “Anna, what the hell do you want?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you, for one thing,” Anna says with a huff. “And since you’re refusing to pick up any of my normal calls, obviously I had to catch you by surprise. And hey, what do you know? Now we’re talking!”

“Anna, it’s four in the f—in the goddamn morning.”

“Yes? That was the point,” Anna says. “Come on, Elsa, keep up.”

“I’m not keeping up with anything without my coffee,” Elsa complains, fumbling about for her light switch. Why is she still talking to Anna? She ought to just hang up, put her phone on silent, and go back to sleep until an actual, reasonable hour. But now that her sister has her on the line, that would probably be rude of her.

_Goddammit, Anna. Why are you like this?_

She must have said that aloud, unfortunately, because Anna replies immediately. “Uh, because it’s my job as your little sister to make sure you don’t let the best thing that’s happened to you in a year and a half slip away from you _again_. Seriously, you let it get away from you once, and that was one time too many.” 

Elsa rubs at her eyes again and groans. _I am so not ready for this conversation right now_.

“Trust me, I have no intention of letting it happen again,” she says, then freezes. _Dammit, you’re going to spill everything to her if you’re not careful._ Coffee. She needs coffee before she lets the conversation go any further.

On the other end of the line, Anna squeals. “I knew it!” she cries, and Elsa jerks the phone away from her ear, wincing. “Come on, tell me everything that’s happened this week, right now.”

“In a little bit,” Elsa says, fumbling through the cabinets for a coffee filter and the bag of beans. “I’ll call you back.”

She hits the ‘End Call’ button before Anna can get a word in edgewise, and declines when her sister attempts to call her back immediately. _I said I’ll call_ , she texts Anna, ignoring the several dozen messages that Anna has sent her over the past few days. Immediately, the little bubbles that indicate that Anna is typing pop up at the bottom of her screen. Then they vanish, and pop up again, and vanish again.

 **Anna:** promise?

Elsa sighs, knowing she’s going to regret this in—oh, about fifteen minutes. But she sends a message back anyway.

 **Elsa:** Fine. I promise

Then she locks her phone, starts the coffee machine, and sits down at the dining room table to stew.

* * *

“So that’s all you’ve been doing?” Anna says incredulously. “Coffee dates? For three days straight?”

“There’s a fourth one today, technically,” Elsa replies, stifling a yawn. One cup of coffee is not going to be enough to get her through this conversation, she decides. “And they’re not dates. We’re just . . . spending time together.”

Even to her, it sounds painfully like the lame attempt at sidestepping that it actually is.

“ _Elsa_ ,” Anna complains, “come on. L.A. is _your_ city now. You’ve gotta be the one who comes up with things to do, because you’re the one who knows what all those things are!”

(To be honest, Elsa _doesn’t_ know what those things are—she spends most of her time on campus and walking back and forth between community theaters—but she doesn’t think pointing that out is going to make Anna any less enthusiastic about this.)

“Wait a minute,” Anna says suddenly, before Elsa can respond, “aren’t you in a show that opens in two weeks? ”The one with the Greek gods or something?”

“ _Hadestown_ ,” Elsa replies automatically. Which reminds her, she really should be rehearsing her songs a little more thoroughly—tech week is only a few days out. “What does that have to do with anything?”

There’s a moment of silence on the line. “You _have_ invited her to it, right?” Anna asks.

“Um, not exactly—”

“What?” she demands. “Why not? Elsa, the two of you _met_ over a musical, how could you not—”

“I don’t even know if she’ll still be here when it opens,” Elsa points out. She’s pretty sure she mentioned the show to Maren at some point over the past few days, but there’s not really any point in inviting her if she’s going to be all the way across the country again by the time the curtain rises.

Plus, even if that’s going to be the case, that doesn’t mean Elsa wants to hear it said aloud.

“You say you’re not sure, but she might be,” Anna says. “Or maybe you can invite her to a dress rehearsal or something—you can invite people to those, right? Come on, what have you got to lose?”

 _Only my dignity_ , Elsa thinks, but she can’t help considering Anna’s suggestion. Even if she can’t invite Maren to her show, it might be nice to get out into the city and do something a little more . . . date-like?

 _Nope_ , she tells herself firmly. _Nope, nope, wrong word choice. Try again._ _The goal isn’t date-like, definitely not, it’s just more . . ._

Active! That’s the word she’s looking for. Something a little more active.

Elsa glances at the clock and sighs. This is why she doesn’t think about these things at five o’clock in the morning.

“Elsa?” Anna says from the other end of the line, and Elsa realizes that she’s been silent for a little too long.

“I’ll think about it,” she says, if only to get Anna off her back. But now that she says it, she’s pretty sure she won’t be able to _stop_ thinking about it.

“Good!” Anna chirps happily. “Okay, look, I’m late for school—”

“Anna!” Elsa chastises, suddenly remembering that her sister is, in fact, three hours ahead of her. “Your school starts at seven-thirty!”

“—yes, I know, but I’m only half an hour late and my first period is P.E. anyway, so it really doesn’t matter—”

“Anna, you—”

“Have fun on your coffee date!” Anna shouts, and Elsa is so torn between denying that it’s a date and continuing to admonish her for skipping class that she doesn’t get to say anything at all before her sister follows up with a quick, “Bye!” and immediately hangs up the call.

Elsa stares down at the phone in her hands, opening and closing Maren’s texts probably a few dozen times more than is entirely healthy, and finally decides to get a few more hours of sleep before texting her.

There is no _possible_ way that Anna is making it through the entirety of Christmas break alive.

* * *

“So what brought this on, then?” is the first thing Maren asks as she steps out of the Uber, and Elsa has to work to scrape her jaw off the floor before she responds,

“I—um—you look incredible,” she blurts out. Startled, Maren pauses to glance down at the dark brown suit she’s wearing.

“What, this old thing?” she says, frowning. “It’s not much, I mean—Ryder and I weren’t really expecting to need formal wear while we were out here. But you said ‘something fancy’, so . . .” she trails off.

 _It’s perfect_ , Elsa thinks, but she’s regained enough control over her vocal chords that she can stop herself from actually saying it. “Well, now I feel underdressed,” she says instead, holding out her arm for Maren to take. Actually, she hasn’t been completely formal ever since she left the east coast—L.A. is too hot for a full-length dress and gloves even in the dead of winter—but maybe right now that’s a good thing.

It’s certainly easier to feel Maren’s hand slip into hers without that extra layer of fabric in between them.

“You? Underdressed?” Maren laughs, tugging Elsa back out of her thoughts. “Never.” Together, the two of them mount the concrete steps, heading for the entrance to the Huntington Botanical Gardens somewhere above them. “You still haven’t answered my question, though.”

Elsa frowns. “What question was that?”

“What brought all of this on?” Maren asks again. “I mean—not that I’m complaining or anything, I love museums. And I can already tell this is going to be great! I was just . . . wondering.”

Elsa feels herself flush, and she hopes—probably in vain—that Maren isn’t looking at her right now. “Um,” she says, trying to choose her words carefully. “Well, it wasn’t all my idea.”

“Oh?” Maren says, raising an eyebrow. _God,_ if she takes one step closer to her, Elsa thinks she’ll probably die on the spot. “So who does the elusive Elsa van Arendelle turn to when she’s workshopping date ideas?”

“I—uh—” Elsa sputters. _Date ideas? Is this a_ date _?_

_Elsa, you’re taking a girl you have an obvious crush on to dinner and a botanical garden, what the hell is this if not a date?_

_I do not have an obvious crush on her._

_You so do._

“Shut up,” she hisses at the voice in her head, which for some reason sounds infuriatingly like Anna—but she’ll have plenty of time to unpack that later, she’s sure. “If you must know,” she says, making an already doomed attempt at regulating her breathing, “Anna tricked me into talking to her this morning. And I called her again this afternoon before I texted you.”

“Ah, so it’s the sister,” Maren laughs. “If she suggested this, I’m _almost_ ready to forgive her for whatever plot she has going with my brother. Ryder himself, on the other hand . . .” she shakes her head.

“I suggested it,” Elsa feels the need to point out, a touch petulantly. “She just approved of the idea.” She probably doesn’t need to mention the half-dozen suggestions that Anna _didn’t_ approve of, all of which Elsa feels are still completely valid for any future plans they make.

 _If_ they make them.

“Well,” Maren says, shrugging, “Still better than the suggestions that Ryder’s been hounding me with. Suggestions that, I might add, I did _not_ ask him to make.”

Elsa winces in commiseration, but she doesn’t get the chance to ask about it, because by now they’re standing in front of the ticket window and she has to let go of Maren’s hand to get at her purse. She’s so focused on the loss that she completely forgets to be nervous about her conversation with the window operator, only realizing that she’s exchanged actual words with an actual human being once they’re several dozen steps past the entrance.

With the smile Maren is giving her, Elsa thinks, she could talk to a hundred ticket operators and not stumble over a single syllable.

“So,” Maren says, turning in a slow circle to take in everything around them. “Where to first? Any of these directions seem like great places to start.”

For her part, Elsa agrees, so they pick a pathway at random and get themselves thoroughly lost, talking and laughing the whole way through.

* * *

“Say it.”

“No.”

“No more romance advice for you if you don’t say it.”

Elsa glares at the image of Anna, smiling innocently on her phone screen. “What makes you think I want more advice?”

“Because you called me to tell me how your date went,” Anna sing-songs. “And because it was such good advice the first time.”

She’s going to be insufferable for _months_ after this.

“Okay,” Elsa sighs. “Fine.”

“Fine, what?”

Elsa grinds her teeth together and forces out a slow breath. _You are not going to strangle your only sister the next time you see her. Your only sister, whom you love very dearly. Yes._ “You were right.”

“HA!” Anna cries, shaking the phone violently so that the picture blurs for a moment before coming back into focus. “And don’t you forget it.”

“Trust me,” Elsa mutters, “I really don’t think you’ll let me.”

“Touché,” Anna says with a shrug, finally settling down onto what Elsa assumes is a couch. “So, my dearest darlingest Elsie, what can the van Arendelle’s resident love expert do for you today?”

“Laying it on a little thick, are we?” Elsa says. “And I’ve told you before, _don’t_ call me that.”

“Sure thing, Elsa-belsa.”

Elsa squeezes her eyes shut and breathes out again. “Don’t make me regret calling you.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Anna sighs. “What do you want, Elsa?”

That’s an excellent question, now that Elsa thinks about it. What _does_ she want, anyway? “So, um,” she says tentatively. “The evening went well enough.”

“The date, you mean,” Anna says immediately, and Elsa flushes but doesn’t correct her. “So what’s the problem? Don’t have any ideas for another? You were practically bursting with them this morning.”

“The problem,” Elsa says, taking a measured breath, “is that I’m—” _Seventy percent? Eighty percent? Eighty-five?_ “—I’m, um, _reasonably_ sure she might actually like me.” She might be going out on a limb here; even eighty-five percent still isn’t a certainty. And she might be highballing that number a little, out of some impossible hope that might never be realized . . .

“O-kay,” Anna says slowly, when Elsa doesn’t continue. “So I’m thinking that’s, like, the opposite of a problem?”

 _Well, when you put it that way, maybe_. “It’s just . . .” Elsa swallows. “I don’t want to lead her on,” she says. “Or promise her something I can’t give. Or anything like that.”

Anna, as usual, is able to put it into words far more quickly than Elsa ever could. “So it’s the ace thing you’re worried about, then,” she says, and Elsa immediately knows she’s right.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “The ace thing.”

“All right, hey,” Anna says. “I know that brain of yours isn’t going to let you believe everything I’m saying, but I’ll say it anyway: Maren’s a smart woman. And if she knows about you, which she does, and she cares for you, which she _also_ does, and she does it in a way that respects all of your boundaries—don’t you think that’s intentional? She knows what she’s doing, Elsa. Trust her.”

Privately, Elsa is pretty sure that Maren is just as much of a mess on the inside as she is. Anna tends to give people too much credit for these sorts of things. But it doesn’t matter anyway, because there’s one key detail that she has wrong— “Wait, wait, back up,” Elsa says. “Maren doesn’t know. I—um, I never told her.” _She’s still laboring under the delusion that I’m, well . . . normal._

She really shouldn’t be surprised at the way Anna just takes it in stride at this point. “Okay, okay,” her sister says. “Well, now that I think about it, that might have been an assumption on my part. But if you want her to know, you can just . . . tell her, right?”

It’s exactly what she doesn’t want to hear, but also the thing she definitely needs to do.

“But it’s not that easy,” she complains, fully expecting Anna to brush off her argument immediately, and her sister doesn’t disappoint.

“Of course it isn’t,” Anna says. “It’s not an easy thing. But it is a brave thing, and also an important one.”

She’s right, of course, because she always is with these things. Not that Elsa would ever let her sister hear her say that.

“Okay,” she sighs, reaching the conclusion she knows she’s just been avoiding until now. _No excuses this time_ , she thinks to herself. _No cross-country jaunts you can use as an excuse to cut her off instead of talking to her. God, it’s a miracle she still wants anything to do with you at all_. “Okay, I’ll tell her the next time I see her.”

* * *

She does not, in fact, tell her.

Elsa meets Maren for coffee the next morning, trying to work their meeting in around a schedule packed to the gills with musical rehearsals, classes, and the stress of a production just a few days out of tech week.

“I don’t know how much time I’ll have this weekend—if I have any at all,” she tells Maren. “And then I’ll be at the theater until late every night next week, so . . .”

“I’m willing to wait,” Maren says quietly. “If you’re not too tired after rehearsals, that is.”

Elsa feels like she could swoon. “Really?” she says. “I mean, I can’t promise anything, but . . . I’d be willing to try.” _For you_.

“No pressure or anything,” Maren says, laying a hand atop Elsa’s on the table. “It was just a suggestion.”

“No, it’s a good suggestion,” Elsa says, feeling herself flush at the contact. “I want to see you more before you leave.” The more they see each other, the more chances she’ll have to tell her . . . and the more she’ll be able to put it off, too. It’s a double-edged sword.

Though she also wants to spend time with Maren for its own sake, and that might be a part of it, too.

“So, speaking of me leaving,” Maren says, “I get it if it’s not really something we want to talk about, but . . . we’ve decided that we’re only staying a week, so I’m only here until next Wednesday.” So Elsa can’t even invite her to a dress rehearsal. _Oh well, it was a long shot anyway._

“Well,” she says aloud, “I suppose we’ll just have to make the most of it until then.”

“Yeah.” Maren spins her coffee cup idly atop the table. “Hey, speaking of, when do you have to leave to get to rehearsal?”

Elsa’s watch tells her that it’s still a quarter to eleven, which means she has at least a couple hours. “Maybe two and a half hours, if I cut it close,” she says.

“Perfect.” Maren stands and lobs her coffee cup at the nearest trash can—it bounces along the inside of the rim for several agonizing seconds before finally falling in. “Come on, then.”

“Where are we going?” Elsa asks, bemused. She stands as well, however, scooping up her purse and following Maren toward the door.

“To get you a succulent or three,” Maren replies. “I appreciate that you’ve got your whole ‘austere off-white’ vibe going on, but your apartment is in desperate need of some signs that something actually lives there.”

“Uh, okay,” Elsa frowns. She’s not entirely sure what brought this on, but going plant shopping does promise to be more fun than sitting around in the coffee shop until she has to leave. “I’d consider a cat, actually,” she says, “but my lease doesn’t allow for pets.”

“Of course you would,” Maren says with a grin. “I bet you can’t wait to get home for Christmas so you can see Bruni again.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” They pass through the doors and into the street, where Elsa is fairly sure that Maren has no clue where she’s going. But they’re bound to find a hobby shop or a superstore if they just keep walking—this is L.A., after all—so she lets her lead. “Will you be around for Christmas, too?”

“Depends on if I’ll have to compete for attention with the cat,” Maren says, but she relents when Elsa arches an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be home. Anything for you, and all that.”

For probably the first time ever, Elsa finds herself able to ignore the blush threatening to spread across her face. “Good,” she says simply, and Maren smiles.

They stop in the middle of the sidewalk less than ten minutes later, Maren scanning their surroundings in confusion while Elsa looks on, suppressing a smirk. “All right, I give up,” Maren sighs. “This city is just too damn big. I don’t suppose _you_ know somewhere nearby that sells plants?”

“Nope,” Elsa replies cheerfully, fishing her phone out of her purse again. “Though I was hoping we would stumble across something before you asked that.”

“Seems you’re out of luck, then,” Maren smirks. “So where are our overlords at Google directing us to today?”

Even with the help of directions, they still get lost several times over—though Elsa finds, as she slips into rehearsal fifteen minutes late with a potted succulent in either hand, that she doesn’t really mind at all.

* * *

The next four days pass far too quickly for Elsa’s taste, and before she knows it, it’s Tuesday night. She’s bone-tired as she stumbles out of the Dark Sea Community Theater—according to her watch, it’s half past eleven, though it feels much later than that—but Maren is leaving tomorrow, and this is Elsa’s last chance for some alone time with her.

She pages through her contacts until she finds Maren’s name and presses _call_ , half expecting to be sent to voicemail. But Maren picks up on the first ring.

“Hi there,” Maren says in a half-whisper. “How are you doing?” When Elsa just groans in response, she clicks her tongue in sympathy. “Rough night tonight?”

“You could say that,” Elsa sighs, stifling a yawn. If experience is any indicator, she’ll be a hundred percent awake the moment she comes into physical proximity of Maren, so she’s not really worried. “Are you still up for meeting tonight?”

“As long as it won’t throw your sleep schedule off even further,” Maren says.

Elsa just chuckles. “It’s already shot, anyway,” she says. “Mine or yours?”

“Yours,” Maren says immediately. “I don’t trust you to make it through the ride back without falling asleep in the Uber.”

Elsa wants to protest, but it’s fair enough of a judgement. If she were Maren, she probably wouldn’t trust herself with that, either.

By the time Elsa arrives at her apartment, Maren is sitting in front of the door waiting for her. She tenses as Elsa approaches, her hand moving toward her pocket, but then Elsa waves and she relaxes, rising from her seat. “What took you so long?” she says. “I had time to fight Ryder off my back and everything.”

“Not literally, I hope,” Elsa says, digging her keys out to unlock the door. “He knows you’re here?”

“Unfortunately,” Maren sighs. “I woke him up while I was trying to find my shoes. He’s going to be insufferable tomorrow morning.”

Elsa hums in sympathy as she pushes the door open and steps inside—just as she expected, all of her exhaustion has suddenly washed away. “He’ll just have to deal with it, I suppose. I’m not giving up my last chance to spend time with my—with you.”

Suddenly, Elsa is very glad that she’s facing away from Maren. Perhaps she’s still more tired than she thinks, too.

Maren, to Elsa’s great relief, lets it slide. “Yeah, he can deal,” she says. “I’m not giving this up either, for the record.” As if to prove her point, she follows Elsa into the entryway, and Elsa shuts the door behind the two of them. Maren slips into the kitchen, grinning fondly at the potted succulent that now lives atop the pantry, and takes a seat at the table. “So how was rehearsal?” she calls to Elsa, who’s still struggling to line her shoes up properly alongside the door. Just as she thinks she has it, the left one topples over and hits the floor with a dull _thunk_.

Sighing, Elsa gives up on her endeavor— _I’ll just fix it tomorrow morning, how hard could it be?_ —and joins Maren in the kitchen. “Rehearsal was . . . rehearsal,“ she sighs. “You know how tech week can get.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Maren grins. “I’m sure you’re gonna be incredible, though. You absolutely killed it on _Come From Away_.”

Elsa laughs fondly. “The theater scene is quite a bit more cutthroat out here,” she says. “I’ve been working my way up—chorus, bit parts, the like.”

It’s not an attempt at downplaying herself—not a conscious one, anyway—but Maren still eyes her suspiciously. “And who did you say you were playing for _Hadestown_ , again?”

“I didn’t,” Elsa admits, shrugging. “Um. I’m understudying Orpheus?”

Maren stares at her for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “Chorus and bit parts, my ass,” she snorts. “Elsa, you’re literally a _lead_.”

“An understudy for a lead!” Elsa says. “It’s not really the same thing. And I’m only onstage for one show, as long as nothing drastic happens to our real lead.” She’s still amazed that she landed the part at all, considering the amount of skill that playing Orpheus requires—not to mention the fact that he’s supposed to be a tenor, so they’ve had to transpose several of his songs so that she (and also the real lead) can make it through the show without passing out. 

“Mm,” Maren hums. “All right, half a lead, then. But my point still stands.”

“All right,” Elsa sighs, because she knows Maren well enough to realize she’s not winning this argument. “It’s a step up from chorus, I suppose.”

“You’d better believe it.” Maren folds her legs so she’s sitting cross-legged on the chair, then looks up, seeming to only just notice that Elsa is still lingering in the doorway. “Hey, aren’t you going to sit down?”

Elsa shakes her head. “I’ve had enough of uncomfortable chairs for the day,” she says. “All we have backstage at the Dark Sea are those metal folding ones.” And they don’t even have enough of them to go around, not that most of them have much time for sitting anyway.

“Ouch,” Maren winces. “Though I do have to mention that your kitchen chairs being uncomfortable is absolutely your own fault.”

“It’s not—they came with the apartment!” Elsa complains. _And I don’t have visitors often enough to justify spending the money to replace them_.

Not that money is a problem, really, but she likes to keep herself aware that it isn’t infinite. And it’s not like living within a modest means is hurting her, so there’s no reason to change that.

Maren says nothing, just rolls her eyes at Elsa, and shifts on the chair again. Elsa looks at her and sighs. “If you really want somewhere more comfortable to sit,” she says, feigning light irritation, “we can go into my room.” That’s all the invitation Maren needs, it seems, because she uncoils herself to get off the chair and grins. Elsa rolls her eyes and pushes open her door.

She takes a seat on the bed, expecting Maren to go for the desk chair, but instead Maren sits down next to her and curls into her side, eyes fluttering shut. Unable to stop herself, Elsa tenses, and Maren pulls back.

“Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t—”

“No, it’s okay.” It’s an effort to not reach nervously for her braid, but Elsa manages it. “You just . . . I was just surprised.”

“You sure?” Maren asks, but Elsa nods, giving her permission to lean back in. Even as she does, though, Elsa can feel her stomach growing heavier with guilt.

_How much longer are you going to string her along like this?_

Grinding her teeth together, she banishes the thought and focuses on her breathing instead—in, out, in, out. She’s not stringing anyone along, least of all Maren.

Elsa dearly wishes she could get that thought to stick in her head for longer than a second or two at a time.

“This is nice,” Maren says after a while, and Elsa realizes with a start that they’ve both fallen silent. “I’m . . . I’m going to miss having opportunities like this.”

“Me, too,” Elsa nods, because it’s easier to say that than any of the other things floating around in her head. _I’m going to miss_ you _. I don’t want to give this up._

_I love you._

With her free hand, she grips the fold of her skirt a little more tightly and hopes Maren doesn’t notice her shifting. _Too early for that_ , she reminds herself. _Far too early_. Sure, it’s technically been two years since they met, but before this week, it had also been a year and a half since they’d last spoken.

Then again, it wasn’t like that meant Maren hadn’t been constantly on her mind.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Maren says softly, and Elsa jolts.

“What do you mean?”

“You get all tense when you’re stressing yourself out,” she says. “What is it you’re thinking about?”

“Just . . . running lines in my head,” Elsa lies. She wonders if Maren knows her well enough to detect that as well. “And songs. Have to get the songs right, and all that.”

“Mm,” Maren hums, twisting her head to look up into Elsa’s eyes. “Well, no need to keep it all in your head,” she says. Elsa looks down, confused, and she smiles. “Sing one of them for me?”

And, well. It’s not like Elsa can say no to her.

“Uh—um, sure,” she says. “I mean, I’m not warmed up or anything, and unless you want to move I’ll be sitting down—”

“Hey,” Maren cuts her off, “It’s just us, right? I’m gonna know you’re phenomenal no matter what, and this is for you to stop stressing. So no pressure.”

“Right,” Elsa says, steadying her breathing—which is difficult to do with Maren’s warm brown eyes so close to hers. She forces herself to look away. “Here goes, then.”

It takes her a moment to actually open her jaw and inhale, but Maren waits quietly, without interrupting.

“ _I don’t know how or why_ ,” she breathes. “ _Or who am I that I should get to hold you . . ._ ”

She has no idea why she’s picked this song, of all songs. It’s a duet, for one thing, not even something she’ll be able to finish on her own—but when she risks a glance down at Maren and finds her beaming, Elsa finds it somewhere within her to continue. She gets through three verses before trailing off, suddenly acutely aware that there isn’t a Eurydice in the room to pick up the musical thread for her.

Somewhere along the way, she realizes, she’s locked eyes with Maren, who has all but stopped breathing. 

“See?” Maren whispers, as if speaking any louder would break some sort of spell in the room. “Phenomenal.”

She leans even _closer_ to Elsa, which shouldn’t even be possible at this point, and for a moment her eyes drop to Elsa’s lips and Elsa immediately freezes, panicked, unable to breathe and terrified that now is the moment, now is the instant where she’ll have to push Maren away, where she’ll have to reveal that there’s something she can’t give and never will, something—

And then Maren blinks, and pulls back ever so slightly, and settles the side of her head into Elsa’s collarbone.

Elsa takes ten deep breaths—she knows, because she counts them out one by one—as she tries in vain to return her heartbeat to a normal rate, and then she feels the tears start to trickle down her cheeks.

“Elsa?” Maren raises her head and lifts a hand to her forehead, frowning. “Elsa, are—oh my God, you’re crying. What—?”

“I’m sorry,” Elsa gasps, desperately attempting to hold back her tears. Her thoughts won’t obey her; any ability she might have had to articulate what she’s feeling has vanished. “I’m—I can’t—I can’t—”

“Hey, whoa.” Straightening up completely, Maren wraps an arm around Elsa’s shoulders and pulls her closer. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here.”

 _That’s exactly the problem_ , Elsa wants to shout, but all she can mumble is, “You—you—you wanted to kiss me.” Just for a moment, Maren tenses, and Elsa knows she’s right. “I’m so sorry,” she gasps. “But I can’t—I’m not—” This time, Maren doesn’t interrupt her, but instead her throat feels as if it’s closed in on itself. She tries, but she can’t force herself to form words.

“But you’re not comfortable with that,” Maren finishes for her, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I know.”

Whatever’s driving Elsa’s brain slams down on the brakes hard. It feels like she’s just been doused with a bucket of ice water.

“You know?”

“I mean, I wasn’t sure about it,” Maren says quickly. “But I knew you were ace, I just didn’t know what your specific boundaries were—I did a bunch of research once, though, and the Internet said it was different for everyone—”

Elsa wants to scream. “ _You knew I was ace!?_ ”

“Um.” Maren stops. “I mean, yeah? You mentioned it a couple times back when we were at home, and then you—well, you sort of shouted it at Ryder and Anna the other day. When we were walking out of the hotel room?”

The window for screaming has passed; now she just wants to curl up into a ball and die.

“You _knew_ ,” she groans, burying her face in Maren’s shirt and resolving never to come back out. “You knew, and all this time I’ve been—just— _fuck_ , Maren, I’m so sorry.”

She’s not looking up at Maren, but she can feel her shake her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Elsa,” Maren says softly.

Elsa extracts herself from Maren’s arms, blinking. “But I—you know what I am,” she whispers. “I can’t—”

But she can’t bring herself to say it, not even now. She gestures helplessly instead. “Well, you know.”

“Of course I know,” Maren says. “But, Elsa, having that isn’t important to me—not as important as having _you_. I don’t need to—to sleep with you or kiss you or _anything_ to prove that I love you. I . . .” She continues, and Elsa knows she’s saying incredible things—supportive things, things that Elsa really ought to be listening to and marveling at and appreciating, but her mind is skipping like an old record that won’t let go of the one line—

“You love me?” she says, like an idiot, and Maren’s eyes go wide.

“ _Shit_ ,” Maren hisses, pulling back abruptly. “”I didn’t—I mean, I just didn’t want to say—not this early—oh, God, now I’ve totally fucked this up—”

“No!” Elsa shouts, a little more forcefully than she intended to. “No, it’s okay, I—” She takes a slow breath in, steeling herself. _You can do this, Elsa._ “I love you, too.”

For a long moment, nothing changes inside her. She still feels the same way she’s felt for two years running—conflicted, completely exhilarated, and not a little bit guilty, as well.

But on the outside, Maren’s smile looks like it could outshine the sun itself, and for the first time in a very long time, Elsa finally feels the knot in her stomach begin to fade away.

* * *

There’s a warmth pressed up against her back when her doorbell rings the next morning, both of which are events that it takes Elsa several moments too long to place.

The warmth comes first—it’s Maren, of course, and she wonders how she was ever able to forget that. Just the thought makes her want to relax, to cuddle back into her and drift back into sleep until—

_Shit, the doorbell._

Maren stirs behind her, quicker on the uptake as always. “Is that . . . ?” She gestures vaguely in the direction of the entryway.

“Yeah,” Elsa replies, throwing off the covers and stumbling to her feet. “I got it.” She throws a robe on over her pajamas and makes sure she’s presentable, but by the time she makes it out into the hallway to open the door, Maren is beside her again.

“Oh, good,” Ryder says the moment the door swings open. “You’re not dead.”

Elsa blinks at him for a few seconds before realizing that he’s probably talking to Maren.

“I’m—oh.” Maren’s eyes widen in realization. “Shit, I’m so sorry, what time is it? We’re not late, are we?” She casts about frantically for her phone, but it’s probably back in Elsa’s bedroom somewhere—the nightgown she’s borrowed doesn’t even have pockets.

“Woah, relax, Mare,” Ryder says, holding out his hands. Belatedly, Elsa notices the two suitcases and a duffel bag stacked up on the steps behind him. “We’re all good, we still have an hour or so. I just wanted to get here a little early.” He glances between Elsa and Maren, then gestures to the luggage. “So, uh, are you going to invite me in?”

They do, if a little reluctantly.

“So,” Ryder says, grinning, once the two of them have changed into day clothes and joined him in the kitchen. “I take it your nights went well, then.”

Elsa gives him a warning look before his hand stretches too close to the cookie jar he’s eyeing. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she says, crossing her arms and glaring, “but—it was fine.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re forgiven,” Maren calls from across the kitchen, where she’s looking through the fridge for something to eat. “Well—not completely, anyway.”

“Ha! I knew it would all pay off in the end,” Ryder grins. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Anna about this—you know, you really had us worried for a couple days there. We were considering—”

“You are not telling my own sister about this before me!” Elsa sputters, cutting him off. “I—we don’t even know what _this_ is!” _Plus, Anna would kill me if she heard it from anyone else._

“Oh?” Ryder says, and Elsa does _not_ like the smirk that’s wormed its way across his face. He pulls his phone from his pocket and spins it between his fingers before casually unlocking it. He opens his contacts list and looks Elsa directly in the eyes. “Better hurry, then.”

“He’s bluffing,” Maren says, still unconcernedly scanning through the fridge, but Elsa isn’t about to risk it. She snatches her phone off the table and holds down the home button for Siri, glaring at Ryder the whole time.

“Call Anna,” she says, and Ryder cackles and shuts off his phone. The call, however, goes to voicemail immediately, and Elsa realizes belatedly that it’s past ten o’clock on the east coast—Anna’s probably in school right now.

Ryder gives a disappointed sigh. A few seconds later, Elsa’s phone pings with a text.

 **Anna:** u ok?  
**Anna:** if this is an emergency i can duck class  
**Elsa:** No don’t worry, everything’s fine  
**Elsa:** Call you later

She slides her phone into her back pocket without waiting for a response. Across the table, Maren sits down with a bowl of cottage cheese and a spoon.

“It’s probably for the best that my brother isn’t around for that conversation,” Maren says, shooting Ryder a look. “I did say he was bluffing, you realize.”

“I know, I know,” Elsa sighs. She watches as Maren starts on her single-item breakfast, then says, “I’m pretty sure I have saltines somewhere, if you want any?”

“I would love some crackers,” Ryder says immediately. Elsa gives him a look, but she fishes a sleeve of crackers from the pantry anyway and tosses them to Maren.

“If Maren’s feeling nice,” she says, “you can have some of hers.”

“This is blatant favoritism,” Ryder grumbles, but Elsa just smiles primly at him. “Fine, fine, I get it.” Turning to Maren, he holds out his hand in a pleading gesture. “Dearest, beloved sister of mine—” he begins, but he doesn’t get any further before Maren throws the entire sleeve at him.

“A bribe to leave us alone for once in your goddamn life,” she says, gesturing at the entryway. “Come get me when we have to go.”

Ryder smirks and flees the kitchen, the pack of saltines clutched in his hands.

“I sincerely hope he doesn’t eat all of those,” Elsa says as she watches him go. “That was my last sleeve of them.”

“Hmm,” Maren muses, glancing down at her once again unadorned bowl of cottage cheese. “I may have miscalculated a bit, then.”

Elsa laughs, glancing through the pantry for anything else that might go well with breakfast. “I have . . . bagels?” she says, holding up a bag. “Though you’d really need cream cheese for that.” She sifts through several packages of food she’s pretty sure she bought nearly a year ago before finally giving up. “Or I could cook something, I suppose.”

“As much as I would love to sit here and eat your cooking for the next couple of hours, I don’t think we have the time for that,” Maren points out. “Seriously, this is fine—I probably shouldn’t fill my stomach right before flying, anyway.”

She makes a good point, but Elsa still feels guilty for not being a better host. After a moment’s deliberation, she settles for frying a pack of sausages, overruling Maren when she insists that it’s unnecessary.

She also starts a pot of coffee, because it’s far too early in the morning to be awake without any.

“I’m not letting you go home thinking the extent of my hospitality is cold cottage cheese,” Elsa grumbles to Maren. And besides, she can always save the sausages for later if they don’t finish them now.

By the time she sits down at the table, Elsa judges that they have maybe a half hour left together. She shoves her phone away from her, refusing to look at the time as it flashes onto the screen.

“Go on, eat,” Elsa says, pushing the plate across the table to Maren, who takes a single sausage and bites tentatively into it. Then she lays it down carefully in her bowl, her spoon twirling idly in her fingers.

“So, uh—” they both say at the same time. “Sorry,” Elsa says, unable to stop herself from grinning. “You go first.”

Maren nods, but it’s a few seconds before she actually opens her mouth to speak. “So I’m . . . leaving today,” she says quietly.

“Yeah.” Elsa sips slowly at her coffee, trying not to let panic get the best of her. Maren isn’t about to suggest that they break things off, is she? _Then again, what do we even have to break off? You haven’t even discussed it properly with her, and she’s leaving in thirty minutes!_ “Um. What are we . . .”

“I’d really like it if we kept in touch,” Maren says quickly. “And by—well, by that I mean I really want to. To keep talking to you, that is. I . . .” she takes a deep breath. “I made a mistake last time, when I let you go so easily, and I don’t want to make it again.”

 _See?_ Elsa tells herself sternly. _Baseless doomsaying, that’s all this is._ Aloud, she says, “I don’t want to make that mistake again, either. And—I really want to keep talking to you, too.”

“Good,” Maren nods. “Good.” She stares down at her breakfast, still twirling the spoon between her fingers, and Elsa figures it’s now or never.

 _Be brave_ , she thinks to herself, but she almost doesn’t have to. Just the fact that Maren is there, sitting across from her in her kitchen, makes her want to be brave regardless of the circumstances.

“So . . .” Elsa starts, setting her coffee aside, and Maren looks up immediately. “What . . . are we, exactly?”

Maren blinks, but her response is immediate. “Whatever you want us to be,” she says gently. “I—I’m good with pretty much anything, I think.”

Elsa isn’t quite sure if that’s the truth or not, but she’s ready to call bullshit on it, regardless. “That’s not really fair,” she says, looking Maren in the eyes. “To you or to me.”

Maren deflates, blowing out a slow breath, but she still doesn’t answer the question. “I went first for the last thing,” she complains. “Why do I have to go first again?”

“Because I asked this one,” Elsa smirks. But this isn’t easy for either of them, she knows, and Maren _did_ throw her feelings out onto the line first just now . . .

She waits a few precious seconds, just in case Maren will save her the pressure, but she doesn’t speak.

“I think—” Elsa’s breath catches in her throat, and for a moment she almost can’t continue. “I think I’d like to—” 

_No, that’s not it_. 

“I want to try—”

_Not that either._

“Will you be my girlfriend?” she asks, all in one quick breath, and before Maren can respond she shuts her eyes and braces herself for anything.

“Yes—of course I will,” Maren says immediately, and Elsa hears rather than sees the smile widening across her face. She cracks one eye open to find that Maren is, indeed, beaming at her.

“Really?” is the first thought that comes into Elsa’s mind, and she blurts it out before she can stop herself. But Maren just laughs, reaching out to take her hand across the table.

“Yes, really,” she says, still beaming. “Don’t you doubt it for one moment, Elsa. I love you, remember?”

And Elsa does remember, even if she’s still having just a little bit of trouble believing it. It feels like at any moment, she’s going to wake up and find that the last day—or worse, the last _week_ —has been nothing but a long, drawn-out dream, but she pushes the thought out of her head and focuses instead on the feel of Maren’s fingers entwined in hers.

“I love you, too,” she says, and even though she still has to brace herself to say it, it’s easier now than it was the last time. 

And she hopes that, at some point in the distant future, there will come a day— _finally_ —when saying it will take her no extra effort at all.

* * *

_Fin_.

**Author's Note:**

> Rejected alternate title: Maybe it Will Turn Out this Time (On the Road to Hell, on the Railroad Line)


End file.
